Marketplace malaise

Sub Pop's pre-millennium tension

by Mark Woodlief

In the liner notes of the Grifters' new Full Blown Possession (see Franklin Soults's review), bassist Tripp Lamkins confesses, "We change, you change, the business changes, the entire staff at Sub Pop changes." Yet as the Grifters prepare to headline the Sub Pop Records showcase at the Central Square World's Fair this Sunday, one constant remains: the label that brought the Grunge Harvest to market remains as controversial and financially troubled as ever.

Call it an identity crisis. While launching the careers of guitar-rock heavyweights like Nirvana, Mudhoney, and Soundgarden, Sub Pop has always positioned itself as an independent label, an underdog -- a heritage that extends back to the label's inception, in 1988, with a $20,000 investment by co-founders Bruce Pavitt and Jonathan Poneman. In the early 1990s the label's aggressive, self-depreciating marketing produced classic slacker garb like the "Loser" and "What Part of `We Have No Money' Don't You Understand?" T-shirts. Despite the posturing, the Seattle label had nonetheless staked a claim. "Sub Pop developed the commercial potential of the underground," wrote Mike Rubin in Spin, "until it wasn't underground anymore." The label's work with grunge completed, a worldwide trend initiated and capitalized upon, there was nowhere to go but up. In 1995, Sub Pop sold 49 percent of the company to Warner Music Group for $20 million, further blurring the line between major and indie, mainstream and alternative.

Today, it's hard for the average fan of Green Day or Bush, two of Nirvana's rock-radio progeny, to know what to call Sub Pop. Whereas some of the label's newer signings could be called accessible, they're no Sublime. Who's heard of the Blue Rags (from Asheville, North Carolina), singer/songwriter Damien Jurado, or the vertiginously named Elevator to Hell? How will those artists be marketed in the mainstream? Even with heavy promotion pushes last year, Sub Pop's top sellers, like the Supersuckers or Sebadoh, haven't seen huge sales. Both those bands are reported to be seeking deals with other labels.

If Sub Pop seems indie enough in terms of sales and roster, some observers have always seen strains of major-label philosophy at the label -- never more so than recently. A power struggle last February resulted in the high-profile firings of four key staffers by co-founder Poneman. According to reports, the four had drafted a letter and a proposed business plan to Warner on behalf of Sub Pop -- without Poneman's knowledge. It was an insurrectional maneuver he couldn't permit.

The Grifters' Tripp Lamkins was recently surprised when he butted heads with the label over CD artwork for Full Blown Possession. His painting for the cover art was rejected, he says, and then the two parties negotiated. Lamkins explains that a sticker covers the painting, which is meant to bind the band's lyrical themes of temptation and emotional exorcism. "Besides the fact that it made me feel like shit as an artist, it bummed me out that they wouldn't get behind the artwork. The last thing I want to fight about is art, especially my art."

Charles R. Cross, editor of the Seattle-based music publication the Rocket, argues that "Sub Pop grew too fast. They've put out a lot of great records artistically, records that were truly indie, that no one would touch. But they were always commercially minded. They wanted financial success."

Besides seeming unsure whether it wants to play major-label hardball or champion indie aesthetics, Sub Pop is said to be under financial constraints once again. So what else is new? The label always seems to re-emerge from dire circumstances. In 1991, with Afghan Whigs' Congregation, among other recordings, held back from release because of funding problems, the label's deal with DGC for Nirvana's Nevermind (two percent of profits from album sales, and a reported $72,000 contract buyout) helped get Sub Pop back on its feet. Not long afterward, Sub Pop signed an exclusive distribution deal with Caroline Records in an effort to escape bankruptcy.

The Seattle Weekly recently reported that, early this year, all of the Warner money "allotted to label development was insufficient to cover further expenses," and that Sub Pop had been losing money since beginning the Warner partnership two years ago. Poneman, the paper said, had been covering some label expenses out of his own pocket. Plus ça change. Poneman and his partner, Bruce Pavitt, recently renegotiated with Warner, and the label is in the process of restructuring. After a hands-off absence to devote time to his family, Pavitt is returning to the label to run a dance-music (!) imprint. Die Young Stay Pretty is a new Sub Pop-owned imprint that has just released a disc by a -- ahem! -- grungy Seattle five-piece named the Murder City Devils. Sub Pop continues to distribute Seattle's Up Records, RX Remedy, and Mudhoney alum Steve Turner's Super Electro; it's also added Seattle-based electronica label Sweet Mother to the family.

In short, as it approaches its 10th anniversary, Sub Pop is at a crossroads. Some observers believe Warner will resolve the current fiscal crisis by acquiring the rest of the label. But it's hard to read Poneman. Reached via phone at Sub Pop headquarters, he sounds characteristically sardonic.

"I think this is it," he sighs. "Curtains. Are you ready to write a eulogy for the Sub Pop record label? The label that singlehandedly took the underground to the masses and turned it into a cash cow?" He pauses rhetorically, then adds with confidence, "You better not, man."

Sub Pop has survived before, and despite the recent troubles Poneman still smells teen spirit in America's clubs, garages, and basements. But the post-Nirvana climate is radically different in the late '90s. As the Rocket's Cross acknowledges, "A big part of what people have seen as Sub Pop's failure is really just a change in the alternative market."

"There's a certain dynamism that exists in the marketplace," Poneman comments. "As to whether or not we're addressing it, I don't really know. I wanna be able to put out music that I'm excited about, and hopefully there's gonna be other interest out there. But if not, I'll get my ass paddled."

To his and the label's credit, Sub Pop has provided a home for a variety of artists by resisting grunge rehash. With a roster that ranges from Combustible Edison's cocktail/exotica concoctions and Six Finger Satellite's futuristic freneticism to confessional songwriters like Julie Doiron and orchestrated pop savants like Eric Matthews, the new Sub Pop has earned mixed reviews. Cross opines, "There's no way you can put a definable sound on it, and that's why a lot of people think Sub Pop's a failure. Despite the fact that people say they don't want Sub Pop to be a grunge label, I think they do want them to be."

Poneman explains, "When you have a lot of fifth-rate Mudhoney ripoff bands sending you demo tapes, you kind of want to move away from that to a certain degree. So Bruce's inclination was more to get out of the business altogether. Mine was more to get out of working specifically with those kinds of bands for a spell."

Still, guitar rock is a proud part of Sub Pop's heritage, and something Poneman is recently re-experiencing. "I think it became a parody of itself for a long time. And now I'm starting to hear bands again that mean it and sound fresh. And when I say bands that mean it, it has something more to do with the music than whether or not they're gonna get a huge recording advance."

One of Sub Pop's primary functions, as Poneman sees it, is to provide a space for bands that don't fit into the increasing homogenized and hegemonic systems of nationally formatted radio stations or MTV. "As a listener and as a missionary of sorts, I feel that it's my job to be able to go to places that other labels may not consider going. A lot of the things we take chances on -- part of the reason those things are so compelling is because they are so different from what's going on in the rest of the marketplace."

The pursuit of compelling and emotional sonics still energizes Poneman, and he hasn't given up. "When we started Sub Pop, there was an unusual set of circumstances that existed that I think will exist again. I don't know if they'll necessarily exist in Seattle or if those circumstances will exist for Sub Pop, but historically, there've always been these pockets, these communities, where people are making music, and then all the pieces fall into place. There's somebody who's recording the music, there are the artists, there's the label, there's the publicist, and the whole scene seems to erupt organically. That is genuinely what happened with Sub Pop."

And Sub Pop's quest for the next Next Big Thing continues. Where does that leave Poneman and his company?

"It leaves Sub Pop wandering around in the wilderness right now," Poneman answers wearily (sarcastically?). "Who's that guy from Walden Pond? Thoreau. I am wandering around in the wilderness, and I'm looking under every rock and every crevice for the next big thing. Do you know what it is?"

Um, nope.

"Then I guess we're both fucked."

A selection of bands from Sub Pop's current roster will play at the Central Square World's Fair in Cambridge this Sunday, September 21, from 1 to 6 p.m.: the Grifters, Julie Doiron, the Blue Rags, Heroic D., and Holler. Call 868-3247.